


Fathom the Bowl

by itshysterekal



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:58:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9652976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itshysterekal/pseuds/itshysterekal
Summary: This fic contains spoilers for episode 203. Quentin deals with his recent heartbreak in an unconventionally conventional way.





	

Quentin walked into the empty apartment and stared blankly at the room. Julia had let him stay while she was off... doing whatever it was she was doing to deal with her shit. Quentin needed to do the same but he could only stare at the furniture. The table with their Fillory map would have to go. He didn't want to think about Fillory. Their whole lives they'd dreamed of going, of meeting the wonderful inhabitants and what had it gotten them? Worse than dead. Broken. Julia had run off half-cocked on some murder rampage to kill a psycho. With a psycho. And Quentin? Quentin had finally lost his belief in magic. He understood what Margo meant now. She hadn't meant that he believed magic could do anything. She'd meant that he believed the rules didn't apply, that they were invincible, that they would all kill the Beast and live to see each other's laughter lines. 

Quentin tried to picture Alice with laughter lines, but he couldn't even remember her smile. Part of him thought he should cry now, that these were thoughts that were supposed to bring unbidden sobs choking out of your throat, making you feel like you were puking your own grief. Or drowning in it. But Quentin couldn't feel anymore. He still hadn't moved from the doorway and still couldn't bring himself to sit. Somehow entering the apartment, settling in, that made it real and it meant he was moving on with his life and he wasn't ready for that yet. He wasn't ready to admit she was gone, not forever. Quentin didn't cry because somewhere in his bones he believed they could get her back. Maybe he did still believe in magic. 

With a sigh, Quentin forced himself to move. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten and the faintness he felt wasn't the grief that he couldn't feel. Julia had frozen dinners and Quentin made one, stabbing the film slowly and half-heartedly as only someone whose emotional state was the equivalent of watching paint dry could. He wasn't sure where the line was between his depression and the loss or even which side of it he was on, but it didn't matter. It was all the same, and it was all just as pointless as it had been without magic. Standing at the counter, he ate the shitty processed meat, grainy mashed potatoes, and rubbery corn before choking down the too-sweet apple mixture. The trash can liner barely rustled as he deposited the empty tray and his footsteps barely sounded as he headed toward the main room. 

Nope, he wasn't ready for that yet. He wasn't settling in. 

Suddenly, Quentin felt something. It was small and it was manic. He pulled a bowl from the cabinet and the ice cream from the freezer. He spooned several scoops into the bowl. Julia didn't have gummi bears, so Quentin dumped some marshmallow cereal on top. There was no syrup, so he put some orange marmalade on. It was disgusting, but he ate every bit of it. Anger was burning him up and the cold, disgusting dessert wasn't helping. If anything, it was getting worse. Finally, he was scraping the bowl, tilting it, scraping the melted bits into a pool that he didn't fish out. For a second, Quentin thought he was finally going to cry but instead he found himself dropping the bowl in the sink with a tinny plastic ricochet as he ran to the toilet to get sick from too much sugar. 

Quentin stayed on his knees for several minutes longer than he needed to before rinsing his mouth and heading back into the main room. "That was disgusting," he rasped to the empty room. He lifted his eyes from the floor to the empty couch before his gaze swept the room and returned to the floor. 

"I made it for you." 

The dams finally broke and Quentin choked on that unbidden sob. The water of his grief that he'd been floating in churned into a rip tide and it pulled him under. He sank into the couch, alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Just FYI- the title comes from an old drinking song of the same name. To "fathom the bowl" basically meant get hella drunk which i'm p sure Q would at some point. 
> 
> This has been "fun facts with robin."
> 
> Anyway, the FTB spoiler chat was talking about Alice's ice cream and how they wanted (presumably fluffy) art/fics of her finally getting it and my brain naturally takes things to the Dark Place.
> 
> yesiamworkingonwhatitsfor


End file.
